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“I know you do,” he says absentmindedly. “Even though you refuse to tell me what for.”
“I told you!” I argue.
“Yes, to pay back some mysterious debt,” he says, side-eying me. “What is that debt all about?”
I shake my head. “That’s none of your business.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, keep your little secret.”
“It’s not like you don’t have any,” I tell him, throwing him a look.
Ignoring me, he gets up to fetch the bottle of champagne and refill our glasses. I never took myself for a very visual person or someone who is overly drawn to perfectly sculptured bodies, but when I look at his chiseled physique as the water pearls down his tanned skin, I am feeling weak in the knees and it’s hard to suppress an appreciative sigh. He looks like a god, so toned and out of this world sexy with his full-sleeve tattoo that travels all the way up to his strong neck after stretching across his muscular arms. It’s not just the wheat but a mesmerizing melange of lines and symbols. But the ear of wheat sure stands outamong them.
I’ve never seen anyone like him, and I can’t believe a man like him would ever be interested in someone like me, the unhappy, tense and boring booknerd who’s just trying to stand on her own two feet.
“I noticed you didn’t bring much,” he says after a new round of champagne is bubbling in our glasses in unison to the hot water in the jacuzzi. “Except for a ton of books.”
“I brought everything I own,” I tell him. “I don’t have much, and I would never move anywhere without my books.”
“Of course not,” he agrees. “But what did you do with all your other stuff? Your furniture? Did you just leave it all to collect dust in your apartment as long as you’re staying with me?”
I catch his inquiring gaze, unsure whether he truly doesn’t know about my former living situation or whether he’s just trying to pry.
“I don’t have any furniture of my own,” I admit.
A skeptical frown appears on his face. “Then, where were you living before?”
“With an old teacher of mine, Mrs. Warden,” I say. “She took me in after...”
I pause, unsure whether I should tell him about Patrick or not. It’s been more than three months since that horrible day when he came clear to me, but my heart still aches at the memory.
“After what?” Logan probes.
“After my ex-boyfriend kicked me out,” I reveal. It’s no use, he’ll just keep probing until I tell him, and I can only keep so many secrets before him.
“He kicked you out?” Logan repeats in disbelief.
“Well, no, kinda... we broke up and the apartment was running in his name,” I explain. “And I wouldn’t have been able to afford it on my own anyway, so...”
“I understand,” Logan says in a low voice, when I don’t continue speaking.
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I was lucky that Mrs. Warden took me in, she’s such a lovely soul. I wouldn’t be where I am if it wasn’t for her.”
“And she’s an old teacher of yours?”
I nod, smiling. “Yes, in High School. I never graduated and she wouldn’t have that. She was one of those overly involved teachers, you know? One who actually cared about her students. She couldn’t live with the fact that I would be out in the world without a High School diploma, so she kept in contact and pushed me to get my GED later on.”
“And did you?”
“Yes, I did, just a few months ago,” I say. “It was just the first of many steps on my five-year-plan.”
He smirks, looking visibly intrigued when he asks: “And what were the others?”
I sigh and take another sip of champagne before I find the courage to go on.
“Pay off my debt,” I say. “And… I don’t know. Do something. Maybe open a bookstore? That would be the dream.”
“A bookstore?”
